


Crimson in the Snow

by Christine_Eponine_Watson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Relationship, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:57:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christine_Eponine_Watson/pseuds/Christine_Eponine_Watson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's death, John doesn't want to live anymore, so he decides to join Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only story I've ever written that does not have a happy ending. Just warning you.

It is the last time you will go there. You had to see him one last time. You had hoped for so many years that he would come back, but you knew, you knew all along that he was gone. He was never coming back to you. You did not know if you could live with that, live without him.

He was everything to you. He was the light of your life, the thing that made you feel beautiful despite your scars, the one person who understood you. Now he's gone. You will never see his smile or hear his voice whispering your name again. You loved him so much, love him  still despite how much he hurt you by leaving. You are not sure if you want to live without him and that is why you are here.

You slowly walk towards the thick slab of stone, your heart feeling as numb as your fingers curled  around  the harsh metal object in the cold winter day. It is light, lighter than you expected. You thought that an object that has so much power would weigh as much as its significance. You can hardly feel it in your  gloveless  hand as you trudge through the snow-covered grass towards the slab of stone. It feels like it is miles away, and yet it is still far too close.

When you first realized that he was gone, you felt as numb as you do now, but back then, it was numbness of disbelief and denial. Now it is the numbness that comes with such a purpose as yours after so much pain. You will see him again soon. Once you reach the unforgiving stone, you will  see him. You know you will. You have to believe because you have nothing else to cling to. Life is already unbearable enough _with_ this one last chance to see him.

You do not even notice the flurry of snow around you or the way it is making the world as devoid of color as your life has felt since you lost him. There is one splash of color. A single, dying red rose on top of the stone. Mrs. Hudson placed it there for you yesterday, but it cannot survive the biting cold. If your face and heart were not so numb, you would have smiled at the thought that you will see him again sooner than the rose will. You will join him first. Maybe then you will be  able to give it to him in person. You think he would like that, even though he claimed that he didn't care for sentiment. You would have brought it to him yourself, but you could not bear to come here . It was too painful; it has been too painful for over a year. You used to visit him every day, now you only come once every three months.

You reach the bleak,  grey  stone that has his name on it and feel tears that you thought had long ago run dry well up in your eyes. It still hurts every time you see his name, date of birth, and date of death on that unfeeling stone. He was far too young when he died. He had so much life ahead of him, so much to look  forward to, but he chose to end it and leave you instead.

You sink to your knees in front of it, your eyes at the same level as his name. The snow is up to your waist now, soaking your pants with freezing dampness, but you don't care. Worldly things do not matter to you anymore. Soon, so soon, you'll be leaving them all behind.

You want to say something to him before you join him, but your throat feels so very tight. You cannot get words to form. You take deep breaths and wait for your numb heart to slow down to a  more normal pace. Finally, you can breathe normally and your tears have turned to crystals on your cheeks, pinpricks of icy cold grounding you, bringing you back to the present.  You raise your free hands and rest it on the stone slab. It feels cold and hard, not at all like the warmth your hand felt when it rested on his chest the last time you saw him before that fateful day.

"Hey, 'Lock," you murmur quietly, a small smile on you face. "I know it's been a while since I last visited you. I just... it hurts so much to be reminded that you're gone... You're never coming back to me. " You can feel the desperation and despair fill your chest again and you grip the metal object in your hand tighter. Soon. "You don't know how much I miss you every single day, Sherlock. I can't go  anywhere  or do anything without thinking about you and remembering that you're gone." You swallow, blinking rapidly to fight the tears that have once again returned. "It hurts to  _ breathe _  without you here with me. I can't live like this anymore... I... I can't go on without you. I know you wanted me to move on, but I can't. I... I love you, you git. I have always and will always love you." You cannot talk any more as sobs wrack your body. You double over in the snow as your cries pierce the solemn silence of the  cemetery. You  wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold your soul together by holding onto your physical body.

When your sobs die off, you raise the freezing metal object that seems welded to your numb hand to your forehead, smiling almost hysterically. "I'm coming to you, baby," you whisper and pull the trigger. A loud bang fills the the snowy cemetery. Then silence.

A shadow sprints out from behind the cover of the trees towards you and the ever-growing pool of crimson that surrounds you. The shadow kneels next to you, cradling your lifeless body in his lap. Hot, salty tears fall from his eyes onto your cheek, but you can't feel it, not anymore. "John..." he whispers brokenly, caressing your cheek gently. "John, I'm so sorry... I came back for you..." He bows his head, resting it on your still chest. He sobs. The great Sherlock Holmes who delights in murders sobs because you, John Watson, are dead. 

Sherlock looks up and sees your gun lying next to you. He raises it to his temple. "I was too late to save you, John, but I won't let you go alone." Another loud bang and then you and he are lying together, curled up in the crimson snow.


End file.
